[Elder Woudbee.] Here comes my Fellow-Traveller. What makes you sit upon the Port-MantelTeague? You’ll rumple the things.
Teague: Be me Shoule, Maishter, I did carry the Port- Mantel till it tir’d me; and now the Port-Mantel shall carry me till I tire him.
Elder Woudbee: And how d’ye like LondonTeague, after our Travels?
Teague: Fet, dear Joy, ‘tis the bravest Plaase I have sheen in my Peregrinations, exshepting my nown brave Shitty of Carick-Vergus. — uf, uf, dere ish a very fragrant Shmell hereabouts.—Maishter, shall I run to that Paishtry-Cooks for shix penyworths of boil’d Beef ?
Elder Woudbee: Tho’ this Fellow travell’d the World over he would never lose his Brogue nor his Stomach. - Why, you Cormorant, so hungry and so early!
Teague: Early! Deel tauke me, Maishter, ‘tish a great deal more than almost twelve a-clock.
Elder Woudbee: Thou art never happy unless thy Guts be stuft up to thy Eyes.
Teague: Oh Maishter, dere ish a dam way of distance, and the deel a bit between. {138}

Enter young Woudbee in a Chair, with four or five Footmen before him, and passes over the Stage.

Elder Woudbee: Hey day — who comes here? with one, two, three, four, five Footmen! Some young Fellow just tasting the sweet Vanity of Fortune. — Run, Teague, inquire who that is.
Teague: Yes, Maishter. [runs to one of the Footmen] Sir, will you give my humble Shervish to your Maishter, and tell him to send me word fat Naam ish upon him.
Footman: You wou’d know fat Naam ish upon him?
Teague: Yesh, fet would I.
Footman: Why, what are you, Sir?
Teague: Be me Shoul I am a Shentleman bred and born, and dere ish my Maishter.
Footman: Then your Master would know it.
Teague: Arah, you Fool, ish it not the saam ting?
Footman: Then tell your Master ‘tis the young Lord Woudbee just come to his Estate by the Death of his Father and elder Brother. [Exit Footman.]
Elder Woudbee: What do I hear?
Teague: You hear that you are dead, Maishter; fete vil you please to be buried?
Elder Woudbee: But art thou sure it was my Brother?
Teague: Be me Shoul it was him nown self; I know’d him fery well, after his Man told me.
Elder Woudbee: The Business requires that I be convinc’d with my own eyes; I’ll follow him, and know the Bottom on ‘t. — Stay here till I return.
Teague: Dear Maishter, have a care upon your shelf: now they know you are dead, by my Shoul they may kill you.
Elder Woudbee: Don’t fear; none of his Servangts know me; and I’ll take care to keep my Face from his sight. It concerns me to conceal my self, till I know the Engines of this Contrivance. […] ill I come to you; and let no body know whom you belong to. [Exit.]
Teague: Oh, oh, hon, poor Teague is left all alone. [sits on the Port-Mantel].

[The lawyer Subtleman recruits Teague as a perjured witness to a forged will.]

Subtleman. There’s a Fellow that has Hunger and the Gallows pictur’d in his Face, and looks like my Countryman. — How now, honest Friend, what have you got under you there?
Teague: Noting, dear Joy.
Subtleman: Nothing? Is it not a Port-mantel?
Teague: That is noting to you.
Subtleman: The Fellow’s a Wit.
Teague: Fet am I: my Granfader was an Irish Poet. — He did write a great Book of Verses concerning the Vars between St. Patrick and the Wolf-Dogs.
Subtleman: Then thou art poor, I’m afraid.
Teague: Be me Shoul, my fole Generation ish so. — I have noting but thish poor Portmantel, and dat it shelf ish not my own.
Subtleman: Why, who does it belong to?
Teague: To my Maishter, dear Joy.
Subtleman: Then you have a Master.
Teague: Fet have I, but he’s dead.
Subtleman: Right! And how do you intend to live.
Teague: By eating, dear Joy, fen I can get it, and by sleeping fen I can get none. — tish the fashion of Ireland .
Subtleman: What was your Master’s Name, pray?
Teague: [Aside.] I will tell a Lee now; but it shall be a true one. — Macfadin, dear Joy, was his Naam. He vent over vith King Jamish into France. He was my Master once. — Dere ish de true Lee, noo. [aside.
Subtleman: What Employment had he?
Teague: Je ne scay pas.
Subtleman: What! you can speak French?
Teague: Ouy Monsieur; I did travel France, and Spain, and Italy; — Dear Joy, I did kish the Pope’s Toe, and dat will excuse me all the Sins of my Life; and fen I am dead, St. Patrick will excuse the rest.
Subtleman: A rare Fellow for my purpose. [Aside.] Thou look’st like an honest Fellow; and if you’ll go with me to the next Tavern, I’ll give thee a Dinner, and a Glass of Wine.
Teague: Be me Shoul, ‘tis dat I wanted, Dear Joy; come along, I will follow you.

Runs out before Subtleman with the Portmantel on his Back. Exit Subtleman.

[…; Teague reveals the plot.]

Enter Subtleman with Teague.
Subtleman: My Lord, here’s another Evidence.
Elder Woudbee: Teague!
Young Woudbee: My Brother’s Servant!
Subtleman: His Servant! [They all four stare upon one another.]
Teague: Maishter! see here Maishter, I did get all dish [chinks Money] for being an Evidensh dear Joy, an be me shoule I will give the half of it to you, if you will give me your Permission to maake swear against you.
Elder Woudbee: My Wonder is divided between the Villany of the Fact, and the Amazement of the Discovery. Teague! my very Servant! sure I dream.
Teague: Fet, dere is no dreaming in the cashe, I’m sure the Croon pieceish are awake, for I have been taaking with dem dish half hour.
Y.W. Ignorant, unlucky Man, thou hast ruin’d me; why had not I a sight of him before.
Subtleman: I thought the Fellow had been too ignorant to be a Knave.
Teague: Be me shoule, you lee, dear Joy I can be a Knave as well as you, fen I think it conveniency.
E. W. Now Brother! Speechless! Your Oracle too silenc’d! Is all your boasted Fortune sunk to the guilty blushing for a Crime? but I scorn to insult — let Disappointment be your Punishment: But for your Lawyer there — Teague, lay hold of him.
Subtleman: Let none dare to attach me without a legal Warrant.
Teague: Attach! no dear Joy, I cannot attach you but I can catch you by the Troat, after the fashion of Ireland. [takes Subtleman by the Throat.]
Subtleman: An Assault! An Assault!
Teague: No, no, tish nothing but choaking, nothing but choaking.

[Hermes Woudbee has been incarcerated as a lunatic.]

Enter Teague.
Teague: Deel tauke me but dish ish a most shweet Business indeed; Maishters play the fool, and Shervants must shuffer for it. I am Prishoner in the Constable’s House be me Shoule, and shent abrode to fetch some Bail for my Maishter; but foo, shall bail poor Teague agra . [Enter Constance.] Oh, dere ish my Maishter’s old Love. Indeed, I fear dish Bishness will spoil his Fortune.
Constance: Who’s here? Teague! [He turns from her.]
Teague: Deel tauke her, I did toughs she cou’d not know me agen. [Constance goes about to look him in the Face. He turns from her.] Dish is not shivel, be me Shoul, to know a Shentleman fither he will or no.
Constance: Why this, Teague? What’s the matter? are you asham’d of me or your selfTeague?
Teague: Of bote, be me Shoule.
Constance: How does your Master, Sir?
Teague: Very well, dear Joy, and in prishon.
Constance: In Prison! how, where?
Teague: Why, in the little Bashtile yonder at the end of the Street.
Constance: Shew me the way immediately.
Teague: Fet, I can shew you the Hoose yonder: Shee yonder; be me Shoul I she[e] his Faace yonder, peeping troo the Iron Glash Window.
Constance: I’ll see him tho’ a Dungeon were his Confinement. [Runs out.]
Teague: Ah — auld kindnesh, be me Shoul, cannot be forgotten. Now if my Maishter had but Grash enough to get her wit child, her word wou’d go for two; and she wou’d bail him and I bote. [Exit.]